Childhood home

a lone grey building
stands, colossal,
worn with age.
wood, soft, rotting,
covered in rusted metal.
two balconies,
no rails, no support.
any minute
crashing down.

a door faces the ocean.
wood faded from crashing waves,
stained from sea mist,
salt lines trace pictures,
scent of seaweed all around.

a wooden path leads to a door.
sun bleached, wind battered.
hinges loose and in
desperate need of oil.
still, it opens.

splintered floor.
boxes of books, skulls,
glass buoys, rotting clothing.
an old Singer washer,
plugged into a generator
covered in dust and webs.
every corner full
with the little things
that life alone in the wilderness
require.
it echoes with emptiness.

nine rooms, two stories.
a slaughter pit,
a garage,
a two bedroom upstairs,
a one bedroom downstairs.
joined by one stair.
long and uncertain,
still somehow
managing to bear weight.

imperfect yet full,
the house still stands.
a physical tomb
of perfect memories,
that leave a child empty.

I couldn't find the title for this

Windows unblinking, forever staring into the street
Haunted eyes open to the masses
Each night tired eyes, lost eyes,
     hopeful eyes stare back
with neon sparkles shining, reflecting
Bricks faded, grout crumbled down
wrinkling the flesh that has faced down years
guarded by a tired soul, the door
opens a moist cavernous hole
slimy residue on every surface
overwhelming the scent of ageless dust
with the bitterness of brew
that keeps tongues moving and thirst sated.
Old face withering more and more
     each day I pass on by
Yet once, only once I glance over
and fall into the pool of beer that lies inside
I struggle rising to the surface
only to gasp and sink even deeper.

Life lately... in pictures

Finally, some successful grouse hunting. My man thinks it's sexy. :)

Canning the grouse above into soup or pot pie ready munchies. Just add seasoning and heat up!

A work colleague came into town and I showed him around. And then released him into the wild with my shotgun.

Some last minute berry picking before the winter comes and takes over.

No words.

My poor sad socks that have gone the way of the hole in the heel. Tragic.

Berries. More berries.

2013 was the year of the berries. Not just one or two kinds of berries but ALL kinds of berries. There were plentiful and huge salmon berries, blueberries, blackberries, cranberries, high bush cranberries, rosehips, etc. If it was a berry and it was growing in Unalakleet, it was flourishing.

Lookit the size of them!

One of my very favorite things to do is pick berries. Being outside, smelling that intoxicating tundra smell, is better for my heart than any amount of hours with a therapist. The profound not silence fills my ears until my thoughts are drowned out and quieted. It's incredibly cathartic for me.

Most everyone that I encounter is surprised that I pick berries alone. They're even more surprised when they realize that I enjoy it and actually prefer it. :) I'm comfortable in the country. I feel at home there.

Some of these little loves were made into delicious cranberry sauce

Dreams

I lay, struggling to move
held down by my nightmares
I saw my face, haunting
skin icy-blue-transparent
sunken hollow eyes
    screaming piteously
the stench of cold fear
unbearable weight smothering my heart
thrashing arms, twisting legs
let me up...
I lay next to myself
staring into dead eyes
help me... help me... help me
My ghastly reflection rises
glances over her shoulder
She walks away

Once upon a time...

I had a creative writing teacher named Steven Meyers. I loved those classes. Their structure, the creativity, how we shared what we wrote. It felt like such a community. I would go back to Durango and enroll in Fort Lewis again to be in one of those classes. By the end of the semester I would know pieces of the people in the class. I felt kinship with my classmates and yet I didn't stay in touch with any of them. It's strange. And yet wonderful.

Anyways... my point is that I'm going to post some of the writing. The journal that I recently found is from one of the poetry classes that I took so that's what will be making appearances.

Kuspuks

August 6th. AUGUST 6TH! When did this happen? Where did summer go? It's one step away from fall. I'm loving the berry picking and fishing. The silvers are coming in slow. I've gotten 2 so far and my trapping partner go 7. Seven! Just plain rude out fishing me.

I'm heading off to Montana in two sleeps. I've been waiting for this since June! I can't believe it's finally here. And yet I still haven't gotten everything done that I wanted to before I take off. Hopefully I can cram a few more things in before I climb on the plane Thursday.

I pulled fabric and wanted to do some sewing. This is going to have to wait until I get back though. These are two kuspuks I made over a year ago. One for a little girl and the other for a baby.